


Antichristo

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Antichrist, Biting, Blood, Canon Compliant, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Control, Dark Copia, Demon Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Evil Cardinal Copia, F/M, Mild breeding kink, Power Imbalance, Restraints, Rough Body Play, Rough Sex, Secrets, Spanking, Throne Sex, Vaginal Sex, Whipping, safe words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: The new Papa is determined to subjugate you, a Sister loyal to his predecessor.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader, Papa Emeritus IV/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	Antichristo

You sit in front of the mirror in your room, detangling your hair from the day. It was a challenging schedule for you now, ever since Copia had risen to the position of Papa. He had implemented rules that did increase efficiency of the Church you have to admit (he was after all in charge of most of the clergy’s work flow as Cardinal) but it was a startling change from how lax the Third had been on daily duties of you Siblings. Your heart aches. You miss the former Papa every day. He was nothing like Copia.

Copia as a Cardinal had been a very quiet man. Calculating, always watching from the sidelines. You know the type. Learning all he could about all the players on the board, plotting in his mind, waiting for the day he could take power. And he had. With it, he had lost his blundering charm and awkward demeanor—you wonder how much of that had been an act to work his way up, unsuspected.

Your door opens in a blunt swing. “You’re wanted by the Papa,” one ghoul in the doorway tells you.

“For what purpose?” you ask. You pale a little, but you don’t turn around as you continue to fluff your hair out in the mirror. The ghouls enter your room unbidden, and you stand up quickly, taken off guard. They take both of your arms, and with a solid grip on each, you’re promptly escorted out of your dorm before you even have a chance to get dressed properly. Still indecent in your satin blue nightgown, you try to struggle away from the two ghouls as they pull you down the corridors.

“Let go of me,” you seethe.

“Apologies, Sister. His Dark Excellency’s wishes,” the ghoul to your right mumbles. At least he sounds somewhat rueful.

“His Dark Excellency can pull my panties down himself and plant a nice big kiss on my left ass cheek if he thinks this is any way to treat me!” Your words die in your mouth as you’re thrust forward into the throne room.

There Papa Emeritus the Fourth sits on the Throne of Belphegor, one leg slung over the side of the seat he now calls his own. His chin is tilted up, resting on his fist as he regards you with the aura of a deity, his breathtaking robes glinting a regal sapphire, onyx and gold. He flicks his wrist once, and you suddenly feel the ghouls take you just above your elbows again, forcing you forward and to your knees before him. Copia takes his leg down, and clasps his hands together in his lap.

“Sister. I trust you are well?”

“You have a funny way of asking,” you mutter. Copia clucks his tongue once.

“You would talk to your new Papa this way?” Although you want to remain defiant, something in his tone sends shivers through your body, a reaction that betrays the confidence you hold yourself with. He dismisses the ghouls with another languid twitch of his hand, and gestures toward his chest with fingers curled. “I know how well you served Emeritus III. Believe me. But it is I who is Papa now, hm? You will abide by this. You will give me the same respect you gave him.” You remain silent. “…Perhaps more, when I am through with you.”

Your eyes fall down to the floor, and through clenched teeth, you reply. “It’s my duty to respect you. So I do.” Your eyes glance up to meet his again, and he cocks his head slightly.

“I am pleased to hear this, Sister. You see I was a little bit concerned you didn’t know your place, but I am only sensitive I think.” He raises a single eyebrow, staring at you over a gloved hand. “Am I correct in thinking this?”

“I know my place,” you grit out, keeping your head bowed, “But with all due respect... you’re nothing more than a murderer.” This seems to be a sore spot for Copia. He gets up and approaches you quickly, grabbing your chin and glowering down at you as he spits vitriol that seems a little too personal.

“The Third is rotting in the crypts of his family with his brothers, where he belongs.” You gasp softly. This sounded nothing like the Copia from before. Was the power of the papacy that quick to poison his decency? Copia realizes a little truth has come out in his words, and stands up straight with a dismissive, “Feh. I do not have his blood on my hands.”

“No. It was convenient though, don’t you agree?” Copia turns to sneer over his shoulder.

“It was not of my doing, you know this.”

“But it serves you that he’s gone.”

“I killed no one, you insolent—!”

“He was and always will be my Papa.”

“Your Papa is dead!” Copia seethes. The cold echo of his shout fills the vast throne room. “I am Papa now, whether you, _little Sister_ , approve or not.” You feel a single tear slip down your cheek. Reaching a finger up to quickly brush it away before he sees, you choke back a sob. Copia watches you, and his scowl softens. “Come, Sister. Will you accept at least my comfort?” he murmurs gently. “After I have hurt you so.” Apologetically, he holds a gloved hand down to you. You’re hesitant to take it, but any comfort at the moment you craved. Copia pets your hair, and eases you into his chest. You stay there for a moment, and Copia pats the back of your head before he sits back down. “I understand your pain. I have lost many in my life. But the difference is, losing those whom I love brought me to where I am now. If I had to, I would do it all again.”

“You would kill to remain Papa, wouldn’t you?” He lets go of you.

“What will it take to convince you I am no killer?” He shakes his head. “Come here, Sister,” Copia coos, holding his hand out once more, palm up. “Come to Papa.” You hesitantly approach the throne because you are bound by duty to do so, and when you get to him, he flips his hand over to display his ringed knuckles. You realize what he’s asking you to do with them.

“I won’t.”

He closes his eyes. “You like to disobey your Papa, mm? You like to say ‘no.’ No is a powerful word, cara. One must always adhere to it, and respect it. However... in the context with which you are using it toward me, I would say that it is hardly acceptable.” He lifts his chin again, pouting his bottom lip out just barely. “Or courteous. Come now. Show your Papa how devoted you are to serving his Church.”

“I can serve the church without serving you,” you whisper. Copia’s hand curls into a fist.

“You are not only disobedient, but you fly in the face of our traditions!” He sighs out through his nose. “What did the Third do to win your lifelong loyalty, eh?”

“Nothing,” you whisper. “It didn’t take anything.” Copia growls.

“You like to anger me so? I am not a bad guy, you know! I’m really very nice!” You glance up to see his eyebrows knit in concern. It reminds you of the Cardinal who came before the robes.

“You don’t want to be nice though, do you Papa?” you murmur, standing up. “You want to be powerful. You want to leave behind a legacy no others can match. Go down in history as the strongest player on the board the clergy has ever seen. _Antichristo_.” Copia exhales at this, lust evident in his eyes; hungry for what you had described or for you and your body, you can’t tell at this point. He makes his desires known however, when he pulls you back against him, slotting his chin over your shoulder to whisper in your ear.

“Antichristo, hm? You want to feel the antichrist fuck you, Sister? Fill you with the putrid seed of death and ruin?” His breath is hot as the fires of hell against your skin, and you swoon back into him. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe down the column of your neck. “Bene. From brimstone, I have risen to take what is mine. I have asked nicely, and now I see that you have spat in the face of my good temper. You will call me Papa, or so help me, I will summon Satanas himself to show you what I am capable of.”

“I’d like to see that,” you tell the man of diabolical pursuit. Copia’s chest heaves as he stands you up and bends you over the seat, ass up. He walks over to the wall, removing a wooden grucifix from it and slinging the chain around his wrist. With graceful steps, he approaches again, fire in his eyes.

“Pull up your nightgown, Sister. Or would you rather I do it for you?” His gaze lingers on you, searching your face. “A word, if you wish this?” he prompts. Despite your hatred toward him for what he’s done, your lust clouds your mind enough to admit you want him, speaking a single safe word.

“Damnatorum.” Your lips quirk up, and the menace returns to his mismatched eyes. He rushes forward to tug your habit up, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you as your bare ass is exposed to him. Papa admires the lace of your black thong, dipping between the curves of your ass.

“You wear this for me?”

“You know I don’t,” you snap back. He stands back up, raising the wooden grucifix.

“Per favore, Sister. Remember the word.” When the Fourth Papa brings the grucifix down on your bare ass, the smack rings out through the room. Your fingers dig into the arms of the throne from the pain of the strike. You can’t help but let a cry out, biting your fist.

 _“Il marchio dell'anticristo.”_ He spanks you again, the wood leaving the red imprint of the grucifix on you. Your ankles kick up. Copia takes off his belt, going to tie your feet together by looping the belt through the arm of the throne. He gives you a glance. You don’t give the word, or any indication you want him to stop. The Papa proceeds to tie you up roughly, and you hold on as he struts around the throne, admiring you. “So beautiful for me,” he says, hands clasping behind his back. His hips swagger as he walks. “Are you comfortable? Do you need a drink? Some wine perhaps?” His laugh is low, cruel. “La principessa dell'inferno. What will it take for you to admit the power I hold over you?”

“You could recreate Hell itself around us, and I still wouldn’t kiss your ring,” you snap. He stops in front of you, staring down.

“Perhaps I will. Perhaps I will start the apocalypse. Show you—and everybody—just what I can do as Papa.” The vindication and thirst in his eyes is undeniable; a real flicker of fear burns through you at just what he’s capable of. You have no doubt he could carry out such a thing, and that power works its way to your core, making you drip for him. The Fourth cradles your face gently, and drags a thumb over your lower lip. “Someone with such power seeks one with great will. Let’s see if your body is as unbreakable as your spirit.” He spanks you again with the grucifix, and you scream, the bloodcurdling sound ringing out and echoing. He presses a soft kiss there on your stinging flesh, then dips his nose lower. Your eyes open blearily as his tongue darts out to lick a long strip down between your lips, hands coming to hold your hips. He waits for a moment and only when you moan, he continues.

With another try of his tongue, Papa realizes he can’t reach what he wants. Untying your ankles, he pulls you down so that your back is resting on the throne, legs spread for him. He kneels between your legs, hoisting them up onto his shoulders, and buries his face between them in one confident motion. Your head falls back onto the throne, reupholstered in sickening blue velvet. Both of your hands fly up to grab the arms of the throne. Copia groans, the vibration travelling through his slick lips to your clit as the papal black staining them paints your skin. Your hips squirm, but he steadies you.

“You taste so sweet,” he breathes. “Your Papa enjoys you.”

Your breath hitches as your cunt contracts, searching for a return of the pleasure from moments ago. “You’re not my Papa,” you have the nerve to gasp back. “He had humanity. You—you’re a monster.” 

“A monster, cara?” Copia asks, narrowing his eyes. “I can be if you wish.” He stands sharply, and jerks you closer to him by your ankles. You could swear that you had seen the glint of a sharp tooth caught on his bottom lip. He lifts his robes and waits expectantly; you think you see the reflection of fire in his right pupil. You frown, trying to look closer, but he growls. “Would a monster be so polite as to let you prepare your own meal?” He gestures down between his legs, striking a cocksure stance. Abandoning all hope of dignity, you surge forward to undo his pants, unzipping him enough to take his cock in hand. You give it a few strokes, lost in your want to touch, and Copia brings a hand to your head, petting it down.

“Show Papa how good you are for him, yes?” the Fourth whispers, and one look up at that leering skull paint is enough to bring your lips to his swollen cockhead, licking up the pre at the tip and sliding your mouth down easily over him. He gives a deep groan, and you feel wetness soak your panties at the sound. He stops you after a second, and with the determination of a man with plans, Copia gets on his knees again, tearing your panties off of you. He strokes a finger down your slick, naked cunt and pushes himself into the tight heat with a rough grunt. You scream out again, but before he can stop at the sound you grab onto his shoulder, urging him to keep going. He pounds his hips into you hard, chasing his own release as much as he’s chasing yours. Still—he remains in full control of you.

“How does it feel to be fucked in this way?” he growls. “Taken by the leader of the Church and used like a bitch in heat. Do you want to provide Papa with an heir? You want me to fill this perfect stomach with my babies to carry on the blood of the _Antichristo_?”

“I…” you sob, chasing your climax.

“You are mine to do with as I please, you see this?” He pounds into you, balls slapping your ass. He takes a deep breath, exhaling a heavy huff as he holds himself together. “However heavenly your cunt Sorella, it does not change how sinful you have been.” He takes you by the hair, dragging you in to rest his forehead against yours in intimidating eye contact. “Tell me. Tell me I am your Papa.”

“Mmm—”

“Tell me! Take me in, receive me wholly. Submit to me.” You let out a high pitched moan, working yourself down on his cock. His breath hurries, and you lean forward to kiss him instead. Copia drops his hands down to your hips, holding you as close to his body as he can while he thrusts with all his weight. He offers his ring fingers out to you.

“Please—” you gasp.

_“Tell me.”_

“Antichristo infernale, per favore,” you moan.

“What am I?” he growls against your lips. You could swear his voice is not of this world, hellish in cadence. “What am I to you?!” He begins to change before you, and your eyes widen. His fingernails grow and rip through his leather gloves, eyes flashing a deep, empty black as his teeth also protrude from his painted lips. He's demonic, horrifying and feral. Desperate arousal rises from your core. You take his finger, sucking it all the way down over the ring you’re supposed to kiss.

“Papa!” you shout, and he thrusts deep into you once, twice more as he waits to see you cum, watching with terrifying intensity as you hit the crescendo of your pleasure. You feel his sharp teeth sink into your shoulder, and the rivulets of what can only be your blood dripping down your arm intensifies the moment. The pain only stratifies your orgasm, but the feeling of your raw flesh is quickly replaced by a singe. Something warm heats up your skin around the area as a long forked tongue licks over the wound. You dare to glance down at the Papa, and the sight of his tongue sliding between those teeth along your shoulder sends you into a second climax. Your pussy contracts around him incessantly and Copia growls, retracting himself from your blood and focusing instead on finishing himself inside of you. You feel his cock kick, reaching depth no one else has ever found. He grabs your thighs, digging his nails in until they puncture as he empties himself in heavy bursts inside of you. 

Copia holds you up by the neck gently and pulls out of you with a breath. You try to regain your bearings as he tucks himself back into his pants and drops his glittering robes once more. He hides his face, revealing only when he turns back his human visage. He cleans the blood from his chin with the pad of his thumb, wiping it in distaste on a nearby cloth. Obviously he didn't have the same bloodlust in this state. Your back is starting to ache where it’s bent against the throne, but Copia is enough of a gentleman to offer his hand to help you up. 

"Don't be frightened of me," he murmurs. "I am no longer to be feared." 

"What are you?" you breathe. 

"That does not matter. Do not tell anybody what you have seen here. You will swear it is our secret?" You nod your head once. 

"Before the Olde One." 

He brushes a kiss against your knuckles, but his eyes never lose their fire. “This may serve as a lesson. Do not underestimate me, Sister. That is a mistake only the dead have made.” He sits back down on the throne. Slightly stunned still from the encounter, you regard him. Copia is resting back in his previous position, casual as a king. He raises a finger in his tattered glove, bronze skeletal embellishments on it glinting in the torches lining the throne room. “Never forget this meeting.”

“I don't think I will. I bid you goodnight, your Dark Excellency.”

“You know the name I well prefer, Sister.” He looks to you with a penetrating gaze that dominates you in essence alone, chin tilted up, awakening something in you that relives the encounter in your mind all over again.

“Papa.” He smiles.

“Your Papa is very proud of you. Keep it this way, eh?” 

With a flick of his wrist, you’re dismissed.


End file.
